


You Know that I Could Use Somebody

by jessa_anna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, a touch of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessa_anna/pseuds/jessa_anna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Derek is the only one to witness an accident in which Stiles is the only victim, he might be forced to actually confront his pesky feelings for the boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know that I Could Use Somebody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/gifts).



> Hey, Moit, so this has been the most annoying story to work on. I have at least three starts to this saved on my laptop. Somehow, this was the only one that wanted to be finished. I didn't realize until I was posting that you wanted an established relationship. That is most definitely not this fic. However, I still hope you like it. I enjoyed writing it, despite all the trouble it gave me.
> 
> The title is from the Kings of Leon song "Use Somebody."

If Stiles had gotten hurt during training or one of their endless fights, then maybe Derek could have handled it better. As it was, he was the only one in the woods. 

It had been a normal morning, mostly sunny with mist rising from the ground. Derek had decided to go for a run in the Preserve, enjoying the feeling of being in his own little world. He was on the trail closest to the road when he heard the screech of brakes, the sound of swerving, and the unmistakable sound of a car rolling over and over. 

He ran through the trees as fast as he could, hoping to make it to the road as quickly as possible. When he finally stood at the edge, he stopped.

His heart stopped too.

It was Stiles’ blue Jeep in the ravine on the other side of the road. It was Stiles in the driver seat of his blue Jeep. It was Stiles who was knocked unconscious and bleeding against the steering wheel. It was _Stiles_.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and then quickly run over to the car. He knew enough about first aid and emergency situations by now to not move Stiles unless he had to, but it was a hard instinct to ignore.

Instead, he tore open the passenger side door as gently as he could and grabbed Stiles’ cell phone. He called 9-1-1 immediately.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?” said a gentle but steady voice.

“Yes, I would like to report an accident,” he said, unable to hide his spike of anxiety and fear.

“What happened?” the woman said.

Derek told her all the details as he knew them, not much, but enough for her to send out a call for an ambulance and First Responders.

Derek waited for what seemed like forever with Stiles, keeping track of his heartbeat and breathing, inhaling the air around him as deeply as possible so he could pull the slightest twinge of escaping gas out of the air and have a reason to move Stiles. It was taking everything he had to not move the boy, to not pick him up and drive him to Deaton’s or even Melissa. But Stiles had taught him better, so he didn’t.

When he finally heard sirens coming down the road, he tensed up even more, his body prepared for battle even if his mind knew better.

It was, thankfully, a First Responder and not the Sheriff. Derek didn’t want to see his pain, to know that the worry he had once had for Laura (and had now transferred to Cora, wherever she was) would be written out across his face for all to see. He wanted Stiles to be at least on his way to the hospital before then. As it was, he used his iron will to not jump the man who exited the vehicle.

He didn’t get his wish completely, although the First Responders, and later the EMTs, were quick to assess Stiles, to wrap his head and neck in a brace before they attempted opening the car. They used gigantic metal cutters to cut away the crushed driver side door and a ram to force the steering wheel up from where it had bent down into Stiles’ lap. It took only a few seconds. Derek couldn’t help but think that he could do it faster.

The Sheriff arrived when they were starting to pull Stiles out. He immediately walked over to Derek and put his hand on his shoulder.

“I heard you were the one who found him,” he said.

Derek nodded. 

They stood together until Stiles was loaded up into the ambulance and was being driven to the hospital. Time had never felt so long to Derek.

 

*********

 

Three hours later, Derek knew without a doubt that time was downright mean and had a way of slowing down so that minutes took as long as hours to pass. Stiles had been pulled immediately into surgery, something about a possible internal hemorrhage. The Sheriff and him sat in the waiting room, straining to hear any news about him. The others had joined them some time ago, and Derek tried to force himself to relax, to trust that the doctors knew what they were doing. 

He doesn’t truly relax until he heard that Stiles was out of surgery.

The Sheriff was the first person to go and see him. He spent a long time in the recovery room, and it’s only Scott repeating facts that he heard from Melissa about how long it can take to wake up from anesthesia and the knowledge that the Stilinski men were really quite close that kept Derek from breaking the hospital rules and going to see him.

Of course, when the Sheriff finally returned, he was gracious enough (or possibly scared, he didn’t look at the emotion too closely), to let Scott go first. 

When it’s his turned, he gulped, closed his eyes for a second, and walked in. 

 

********

 

“I hear that you’re the one I have to thank for saving me,” Stiles said. 

He looked, well, he looked like hell, with dark bruises on his face and a bandage wrapped around his head, but he was alive, and that fact alone was enough to make Derek’s chest feel a little lighter. 

“I was going for a run,” he said, forcing his voice to be flat and emotionless.

Stiles looked at him, really looked at him with his eyes that saw everything, the eyes that had been trained to investigate. Derek knew the moment he saw. 

Stiles opened his mouth, and for half a second Derek contemplated hearing what he had to say. But then his instincts, honed over years of hiding and running, kicked in, and he was off. 

He never remembered walking past the waiting room or seeing the knowing eyes of his pack.

 

*********

 

He might have stayed away if Scott hadn’t come to see him.

“Stiles thinks you’re angry at him,” Scott said after he had slid the door open so hard that it bounced off the wall a bit.

“I’m not,” said Derek. He was sitting at his desk going over financial records, not his favorite activity. He scowled at the paper, hoping that he could keep Scott from knowing.

Scott stopped in front of the desk. “But you are avoiding him. It’s been a week, Derek.” 

Derek looked up at him. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, be a man and tell him how you feel?” Scott said.

“How do you know what I feel?” Derek said. He scowled at Scott, hoping his glare had more power when it was aimed directly at the person annoying him.

Scott sighed. “I know you and Stiles are both really invested in this flirtatious banter/not-letting-the other-one-know-how-you-really-feel thing, but I got to say, the only people you’re fooling is each other and yourself. The rest of us know how much you like each other. If it isn’t the constant glancing at each other, it’s the constant bickering. If it isn’t that, it’s the freaking hormones that clog the air around you two. It’s time that you man up and do something about it.”

Derek closed his eyes for a moment and let himself think of all the worst case scenarios that could happen if he actually told Stiles. Stiles could laugh in his face, but that was too cruel for the sensitive nature Stiles hid badly under all his flailing and inability to focus. Stiles could burst out crying, scream, or even reach for his baseball bat, but that was too severe a reaction too. Still, the worst thing Derek could imagine was Stiles telling him that he liked him as a friend but not that way. Also, his boyfriend and/or girlfriend was here to specifically meet Derek. Even then, Derek knew Stiles would be as gentle as he could be and that they would figure out some way of salvaging their friendship. That was something Derek could live with 

“Okay,” he said, opening his eyes. “I’ll do it.” 

 

********

 

For once, Derek decided to not creep through Stiles’ window. If he was going to talk to Stiles about something this important, than he needed to make a good impression on the boy and his father. When he knocked on the door, it was the Sheriff who answered and, surprisingly, didn’t look surprised.

“Derek,” said the Sheriff, “I assume you’re here to talk to Stiles.”

“Yes, Sir,” Derek said. 

The Sheriff’s eyebrow went up at that, but he didn’t comment on it. Derek almost wished he had. Instead, he pushed the door open a little more.

“You know where his room is.”

Derek nodded and then walked through the door before he lost his nerve. He was almost to the stairs when the Sheriff cleared his throat.

“Derek,” he said, “Be careful with Stiles. He’s still healing.”

Derek nodded again and then made his way up the stairs. 

 

*****

 

He felt as enthusiastic about this as a man standing before a firing squad, his fist balled up at his side as he mentally prepared himself to knock on the damn door. He barely touched it before Stiles was yelling at him to come in. 

Derek opened the door but didn’t get any further in before he was assessing Stiles’ condition.

The bruises on his face have mellowed some, turning into the sickly yellow color that comes before they completely fade. The bandage was still on his head, although it looked a bit older than the one in the hospital. He looked almost too energetic to be lying in bed, and Derek knew that this enforced inactivity must be killing him. Stiles wasn’t Stiles unless he was moving.

“Derek,” Stiles said, his voice cracking just a little bit.

“Hi, Stiles,” he said. “How are you doing?”

“Better, I’m better,” he said.

“Scott told me that you think I’m angry at you,” he said.

Stiles blushed and looked down at his hands for a moment before looking back up at Derek. “I think you’re mad at me because I know. And because you don’t want me to act on it.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Derek said. 

He crossed the floor and sat down on Stiles’ desk chair, which had been pushed over to beside his bed. He looked down at Stiles’ hands and saw that they were moving, twisting in and out of one another in nervousness. He put his hand on top of them.

“I’m terrified. I’m scared to tell you that I like you, that I _like_ like you, and I’m scared because this feeling has only led to bad things for me. And I don’t want bad things to happen to you or even around you. I know that is ridiculous because the pack has already been through so much, and you have always been at the center, but I still feel it. And it is the most terrifying feeling in the world.”

“I frequently feel the urge to wrap you up in cotton balls or insulate you in one of those giant bubbles so nothing else can hurt you,” Stiles said quickly.

Derek looked up then. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He smiled. Hope bloomed in his chest, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like someone else was looking out for him because they wanted to, not because they had to.

Stiles smiled back, and Derek couldn’t keep himself from leaning forward to kiss him. It was a rough kiss, made awkward by how they were sitting and his slightly chapped lips, but it was also prefect because it was Stiles kissing him back. 

And Derek knew then that he would always be there for Stiles no matter what happened. Even if their relationship fell apart, they wouldn’t. And that surety is what had him leaning forward for a second kiss.


End file.
